


Permanent Ghosts

by Waldo



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Episode Related, Episode: s01e06 Keepin' It Real, M/M, Minor Character Death, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen. </i> ~Cynthia Ozick</p><p>Talking about his foster brother, Jason, in "Keepin' It Real" has caused G to remember more than he wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanent Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> For Gryvon. I saw this come past the pinch hitters list, but I didn't get it. Then I saw it on the Madness List, so I wrote this... and of course that meant that by the time I got it done, the pinch hitter had already gotten their story up. So this is a bonus, I suppose. :)
> 
> This is for the prompt that asked why it is that G might have amnesia/not know certain things about his own past.
> 
> I hope you like it, Gryvon!

One of the reasons G tended not to take people up on their offers of crash space was one of his most closely guarded secrets.

When under enough stress, he tended to talk in his sleep.

And being the 'go to guy' for an armed federal agency's undercover needs meant that he was frequently under enough stress.

Still, after the Valdivia case, he'd been kind of glad not to have to spend the night wandering around until he couldn't see straight and then hope the hotel he wandered into was moderately respectable. So when Sam had simply pointed G towards the Charger, G had gone without argument.

They'd sat on Sam's couch drinking beers and rolling their eyes at a terrible Lakers game until G had kicked off his shoes and curled up in a ball on his end of the couch and fallen asleep.

Deciding not to bother him too much, Sam tossed a pillow on the other end when he got up and convinced G to stretch out before cramped up.

"I didn't mean to break the glass," G mumbled as Sam pulled him around and tossed the afghan from the back of the couch over him.

"Okay, G, whatever," Sam said. They could deal with whatever was going through G's head in his sleep in the morning. The game had ended late, and unless this ended up being one of the nights G woke up in a cold sweat and shaking, he figured it could wait until they'd both gotten some rest.

&lt;{*}&gt;

Nothing was said about G's sleep-mumblings the next morning and it wasn't until they were at work doing their reports that Sam noticed it. G had never once seemed distracted while in the field, but sometimes when something stirred up ghosts, and then they had some downtime, G would spend the day pretty deeply in his head. Especially when he thought no one was paying attention.

Today it became apparent when Kensi had to throw a paper clip at him when calling his name repeatedly seemed to have no effect. Callen was able to wave off her concern, but at lunchtime, Sam strongly suggested they go out and drive around for a while.

Sam wasn't quite sure why, but G tended to be more comfortable in motion; they had most of their deep conversations while Sam drove them through back woods roads.

"What is it today?" Sam asked as they left the congestion of L.A. and headed up into the mountains.

"I'm not… sure..." G replied slowly enough that Sam was pretty sure that he wasn't being blown off, but G really didn't know.

Another ten minutes into the woods and G shifted and studied Sam before finally saying, "This is between us, right? I mean… Nate will –"

"Your story, G. I don't tell Nate or anyone else unless I think you're gonna do something truly stupid." Sam slid one hand off the steering wheel and rested it on G's leg.

"What I said yesterday, about Jason… Our Secret Service friend thought I made it up," G said, staring out his side window.

"I heard her. She doesn't know you well enough to know you don't need to make up shit like that." Sam pulled over to the side of the rarely-traveled gravel road and put the car in park and killed the engine so he could give G his full attention.

"I didn't tell her why that asshole beat Jason to death," G said quietly. "And it occurred to me this morning that it wasn't just that those details weren't… useful in getting Walder to talk. I think I honestly forgot."

Sam shifted so that he could look at G, even if G wasn't looking at him. "Does it have something to do with breaking a glass?"

Callen sat bolt upright. "How the _hell_ did you know that?" He eyed Sam suspiciously.

Sam found himself really disliking having that cold glare that Callen used in interrogations turned on him. He slid his hand up to G's shoulder, "You were talking in your sleep last night."

G grit a quiet, "Fuck," through his teeth.

"Tell me what happened, G," Sam told him. "It's been bugging you all day."

G sighed and slumped into his seat, folding his arms across his chest. There was a pause that was so long, Sam began to think G wasn't going to share, he was debating asking again when G finally started. "I was twelve. I was staying with a family called the Bakers. They had a biological kid named Kenneth who was eight and a total pain in the ass. I don't mean a pain in the ass like every kid thinks younger kids are a pain in the ass. This kid could do no wrong. Jason and I… couldn't do anything right." G stopped, glancing over at Sam and then back out the window.

"What happened, G?" Sam asked after another long silence.

"Jason and I were doing the dishes one night when Kenneth started driving this damn little remote control car around the kitchen. He decided it was funny to run it into my ankle, back it up and do it again. And again. And again." He stopped there, staring out at the trees, but Sam was sure he was seeing something else.

He was starting to get a little worried now, G was looking out the window, but Sam could see him in the side mirror, and the glassy look in his eyes was making Sam nervous. They'd driven around to let G talk a lot of times, but Sam was knew that none of the stories before this had ended with G seeing a kid die. Hoping he was doing the right thing, he urged G to get through the story. "What happened after that?"

"I suspect it's the kind of shit that goes on in any house with more than one kid. I turned around real quick to tell him to knock it off, I had a wet glass in my hand and it slipped. Smashed into the wall." G bit his lip, and Sam could detect the faintest tremble under his hand.

"Your foster dad got pissed you broke the glass?" Sam asked, trying to keep him talking.

"Something like that. That little deviant Kenneth ran in and told his father that I threw it at him. Old man Baker came in and took a glass and threw it at me. When I ducked and he missed he just started pounding on me. At some point, I remember Jason getting between us and telling me to run. I managed to get down the hall to our bedroom… Christ Sam, I knew what was happening, but I didn't try to help him. I remember thinking that Jason was bigger than me… older… that he'd be able to kick old man Baker's drunk ass." G scrubbed his eyes with his eye with his shirt-sleeve.

"Baker killed him?"

G nodded, leaning back against the seat, trying to force back tears from something he'd thought he dealt with decades ago. "He was so fucking drunk, that he didn't even know that Jason was dead. He thought he was just passed out. He made me help him drag Jason into the bed room and put him in bed."

Sam was beyond horrified now. Part of him wanted to tell G that he'd heard enough. Sam had always prided himself on being the guy who could know about G's past and not be weirded out by it. He didn't pity his partner. At least he didn't until today. How the hell was he going to take this one in stride? "I assume someone eventually found out."

G nodded, but stayed silent for a minute. He took a couple deep breaths and when he glanced back at Sam this time, he seemed more composed. "We were at the same junior high. His first period teacher was my fourth period teacher. She asked me where he was and I… well, first I said he was at home sick, but by the end of the class I was at the end of my rope. Ms. Sanchez always was one of my favorite teachers, always seemed to know when something was bugging me. I don't know, maybe I held it together long enough to get to an adult I trusted. So she got me to stay after class when everyone else went to lunch. I must have told her what happened because the next thing I knew there were cops and I was in the counselor's office and then my case worker was there… then I was at the hospital… and then another group home for a while." Callen ran his fingers through his hair and scrubbed his hands over his face. "A lot of that's still pretty fuzzy."

All Sam could think of to say was, "Not surprising."

G finally looked him in the eye. "You know, I am aware that I saw a lot of crap as a kid. But I never thought of myself as so weak that I'd repress memories." He turned back to look out at the trees.

Sam grabbed G's hand and squeezed, waiting until Callen looked back. "It's not a weakness G. It's a survival strategy. You were _twelve_ and a kid you liked got killed trying to protect you and then your dumb fuck of a foster father put his body in your bedroom with you for a night? Sounds like a damn reasonable reaction to me."

Unexpectedly, G snorted a little laugh. "You know, when you put it like that… maybe it's not so shocking. Does make me wonder what else I've forgotten though. I mean, if that's how my brain processes trauma…"

"G, I'm pretty sure that was an exception. A damn good one, but an exception. You remember being shot, right?" Sam asked.

"I remember you picking me up off the pavement. I don't remember getting there. Christ, Sam, what if I do know why I was shot and I've 'repressed' it?" G pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seriously, Sam… I just figured everyone… you know forgot parts of their childhood, but what if this is –"

"You really think that? You really think you have some kind of repressed memory about why someone would shoot you?" Sam couldn't articulate why, but he was pretty sure G honestly didn't know why he'd been shot. No one did. Vance had let the case slide into cold case obscurity, but Sam knew that they both turned the minimal evidence over in their heads late at night when they couldn't sleep.

Callen shrugged. "I don't know, Sam. Hell, that's the problem. How can you know that you've forgotten something? I told Walder about Jason yesterday and when I did I had this little itch at the back of my brain that said there was more to it what I'd told him, but I really couldn't remember what it was. I've been working on trying to remember since then. When Eric knocked over those C.D.s this morning it all came back. I actually was afraid for a minute I was going to puke." He gave Sam a wry grin.

"Mind a little arm-chair psychology?" Sam asked as casually as he could.

"Go for it. Better you than Nate."

"Eric's C.D.s? They were in that ceramic box that broke when it fell. Sounded like breaking glass." Sam let G do the rest of the math.

"I'm pretty sure I've heard a few glass things break since I was twelve," G argued.

"Yeah, but you said it, you were already trying to remember this time." Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe," G conceded.

Sam squeezed G's hand again. "How you feeling now?"

Callen wiggled enough to lean the other way, his head resting on Sam's shoulder. "Like I'm gonna puke."

Sam used his free hand to lower G's window.

"I'm not going to puke in your car," G told him, rolling his eyes.

Sam laughed out loud. "I'm sorry. That wasn't what I was trying to imply. I was just trying to let in some fresh air for you."

They both laughed at the misunderstanding.

"I still wonder what else I may not be remembering."

Sam slipped his hand out of G's and slid his arm around G's shoulders, hugging him close. "I promised I wouldn't say anything to Nate –" Sam tightened his hold on G, when G's face closed off and he started to pull away, "But I think you should. Or, if you'd rather it not be Nate, find someone else. But if you're really afraid you have other repressed memories… you should talk to someone."

G scowled at his knees but didn't try to pull away from Sam. "I thought I _was_ talking to someone."

Sam tugged G in closer, rubbing his hand up and down G's arm, "Always. You can always talk to me. You know that. And I know you had your fill of shrinks poking around in your head when you _were_ a kid. But if you're really worried about there being other things you can't remember… you should talk to someone who knows how to find out."

G sighed. "I'll think about it. Not Nate though. I don't think I could talk to him about this shit and then go back to being co-workers, that's… too weird."

"But you can tell me and then go back to work with me?" Sam wondered if he shouldn't ask, but he was curious to see how G explained the dichotomy.

"I talk to you because I want to. Not because I have to. It's different… at least in my head." He shrugged.

"As long as it works for you," Sam said, not pushing the point any further.

"Nate can take me off active duty. You could tell Nate, but I know you won't. Not unless you really think I shouldn't be out there. I trust your judgment more than his." G shrugged again.

"Fair enough," Sam said as he slid his hand back and rubbed up and down G's spine briskly before they both righted themselves in their seats, both taking deep breaths and trying to do enough processing of the last half hour to get them through the rest of the work day. "Do me one favor, though."

G let out an aggrieved sigh. "I will _think_ about finding a shr-"

"Come stay with me for a few days," Sam cut him off. "You were having nightmares about this last night before you consciously remembered the whole thing. I'll sleep better knowing you're okay, or at least that you aren't alone when you're not."

G could feel himself blush. He was still adjusting to the fact that Sam – and the rest of his team here in L.A. – gave a damn about him. "I think I can live with that."

Sam smiled at the capitulation. "How you feeling now?"

"Stomach's still a little off. But it's kind of weird… as freaked out as I am about all this, it's still better than the way I felt this morning when I was trying to figure it all out."

"You ready to head back? Or you want me to drop you at my place and tell Hetty you're taking a sick day? She's gonna have Eric texting us to get our asses back on our paperwork any minute now."

"I do not want the circus that will come tomorrow if I disappear in the middle of the day today," G groused. He was clearly not all that thrilled about going back into the office, but he'd clearly deemed it the lesser of two evils.

Sam restarted the car with a snort. "Yeah, because you dropping off the radar is totally unheard of."

"And yet, every time I do, when I come back I have Hetty and Kensi and Eric and Nate all asking me what the hell happened. No thanks." He leaned against the car door, letting the cool air rush past his face as Sam made his way down the mountain.

"Alright. We'll stop and get you a ginger ale for your stomach. And I need lunch. You can crash on the couch when we get back if you want."

"No, no way, not today," G vetoed. "If I've gotten to the point where I'm talking in my sleep, I prefer to do it with as small an audience as possible."

Sam had forgotten about that. "Alright."

They were quiet for a long while, but about four blocks before they got back to the office, G shifted in his seat. "You think I should talk to someone?"

"I think it couldn't hurt," Sam said simply.

"Know anyone?" G asked quietly.

"Buddy of mine from the Navy works at UCLA Medical now. I can ask if he knows anyone."

"And I can crash with you for a while?"

"For as long as you want, G."

"Alright," G said as if he'd come to some kind of decision. "I guess if you've got my back I can deal with this head-on."

Sam reached over and squeezed G's shoulder. "I've always got your back, G. Always."


End file.
